Dark Chocolate
by Aischenna
Summary: One-shot collection for days when you have nothing better to do. Dark chocolate is always bitter, but still a delicious treat - so are the stories in this series. Twisted humour, sweetened aghast and romance, more than skin-deep. Or drabbles that are raw, eerie and edgy. Various pairings and AUs served on a veggy bed.
1. Astoria x Draco x Hermione pt I

**In our hands**

Is a **Drastoria / Dramione** fanfiction (Astoria x Draco x Hermione), Astoria Greengrass' POV, involves Veela!Draco. Starts when they are at kiddo ages, through war and with their last year's at Hogwarts (techinically eight for Draco and Hermione). Trigger warnings are swearing, war scene and fat ass heartbreak. Two-shot. — Astoria is engaged to Draco Malfoy and they hate each other at first sight. Then comes the war crashing down on Astoria's perfect, perfect little world and soon she realizes things she had not wanted to know about.

* * *

She was seven when she first heard the word: engagement. It was so meaningful that time for little Astoria, a grown-up word that she had no idea what meant for her. Yes, in theory, she understood, she knew its definition, but not what it would entail for their lives.

But, at first, she was ecstatic!

She told the news to Daphne, bragging around that she, in fact, was engaged and had something Daphne didn't: a fiancé. Even though she had no idea who he was, she was so sure he would be her perfect match in everything! Her parents chose him, of course they chose well! They would never give their second daughter to someone of unworthy birth. Besides, father and mother could never be mistaken!

So after the first week of being engaged, little Astoria Greengrass was over the moon. She told about this development to everyone around: to Poppy, the house elf when he served her their favourite Darjeeling tea, to Pearl, her plush unicorn to whom she sworn to love the boy – _man!_ – her parents decided on. And of course, to everything, even to objects, to Mother Nature and the fish in the pond that they had in the back yard.

However her mirth lasted for only before they met.

Draco Malfoy was nothing like she had envisioned: jumpy, condescending, spoilt, playful and so pale that it made Astoria think she should need her make-up palette to make him look less like a china doll. Their first meeting didn't go the way most expected: he sneered and mocked at her, she turned her back to him to rather play with her sister than speak with her fiancé.

Their dislike was present during those two years when they were still just children, they met at parties and brunches; giving each other dirty looks from across the tables.

Then, it was time for Draco: he got to go to Hogwarts.

In that year, it was nothing special to Astoria – minus she missed her sister. From her letters she knew Daphne loved the life there, she enjoyed her lessons, she loved being able to finally use her abilities and get some allies. Yes, allies, because there was nothing like friendship in the Slytherin dorms.

It was soon the end of school year when she first saw her fiancé again: Draco looked more mature, he seemed taller and he just couldn't shut up about two things. One was, obviously Harry Potter and his pathetic sidekick and the other was a girl called Hermione Granger who stole his place in the class' ranking – she was the best student in their year. Even Daphne complained about them at home, their parents laughing that off, of course, because how could a _mudblood_ be the first in anything?

So Astoria nodded along to Draco's speeches and she started hating that girl too. So she thought they were getting closer to her dreams and she told it to Pearl with enthusiasm because there was a chance! There was a chance that their future marriage wouldn't end in a catastrophe! They finally agreed on something!

Well, that was her idea until she met Pansy Parkinson – the crazy best friend who always had a hand on Draco's, those two having their fun in plotting against Potter and had their joy in giving pathetic little names to Weasley. It was all their summer holiday was about and Astoria had no way of getting in their private circle – come on, even Crabbe and Goyle were there, how come she couldn't be a part of it?

 _Because you're a baby!_ – stated Draco and turned away, dismissing his fiancée with a casual wave of his pale hand.

After that, Astoria never went to the Manor in the next four years. She started Hogwarts too in the meantime, got to the top of her year, sneered at Draco and his childish actions from the distance and pretty much ignored Daphne. She never answered to letters from her parents and never accepted Narcissa's invitations for brunches – she was entirely alone in the Ravenclaw tower.

And it was okay, good even – though nearly her entire house hated her. She knew that her relationship to her sweet sister had soured, that her mother couldn't be more careless until she knock over their alliances with the Malfoy family and that now Narcissa didn't favour her – she tried to put a stop to the engagement more than three times in the last two years.

All she had to do was to learn and hide in her room in the tower. All alone – because that was okay, good and safe. Astoria was satisfied.

Well, she _really_ was all until the war had started.

She was, of course, in no harm's way when Draco Malfoy – _really who else?_ – let the Death Eaters in the school. She never really got to know what exactly happened that night, and that was of satisfaction to her. But when she arrived home, Astoria mused, now, that was when she got mentally slapped in her face – there, in their hall stood Lucius Malfoy, demanding she went with him to meet with someone _really_ important.

His steel coloured eyes were tired, his posture seemed broken in closer look and the cane which was his usual accessory was actually put to use now. Azkaban had left an obvious trail on him and Astoria just knew she couldn't play out the same cards which she did with Narcissa, she couldn't get away this time. They were _all_ in trouble.

His future father-in-law apparated them to the Malfoy Manor and after the usual gut-churning feeling, she was hardly able to control her expression. The once so bright and lively rooms were darkened so much that it seemed poisoned to her eyes, there was no sunshine despite it being the middle of British summer – it seemed the evil attracted vast, grey clouds over Wiltshire.

There were Death Eaters running around the entire place, Azkaban runways and so much darkness and foul magic that it made her tremble – even though she wanted to stay poised.

Lucius led her to the Manor's dining room where she came face to face with three people, Narcissa Malfoy was one of them, looking ever so prim, slightly grimacing when seeing her, a woman with matted, crazy hair that was surely Bellatrix Lestrange – as she got to know from the Prophet and then, there was someone she heard so many rumours about, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Astoria needed to hold her act under control as she fashionably curtsied and politely greeted all those shady characters.

She could hear the malice in the Dark Lord's words, "Yes my dear, you can straighten up now." When she did, she still left her head bowed, knowing it would be nothing good locking eyes with Voldemort's. He chuckled when realizing that. "Oh aren't you a clever one?"

She nodded along like a well-bred puppy, sophisticatedly smiling and occasionally saying something – strictly just when the question was directed at her. And there seemed quite a lot of those – Voldemort asked things that surprised her; her interests, the future she sees herself in and her opinion of their society.

They were dangerous questions; she knew that well-enough as she tried to manoeuvre herself over the edge of the pitfall, lest the game ended too fast. The Dark Lord seemed to enjoy seeing her struggling as the carefully structured sentences rolled of her lips, shooting the next one at her immediately, without mercy.

She caught Bellatrix's crazed stare as she maniacally smiled at her and Narcissa's impressed looks, though it did nothing to have herself back at the older woman's graces. It was too late for that.

The meeting was ending – she just felt it coming and she knew that the last question would decide her fate. Alive or dead – that was at stake.

"Miss Greengrass, am I right to assume that you want nothing from the Malfoys?" came the question and she gulped.

"I… I," that was the first time when her voice wavered and she suddenly felt the room heating up, perspiration rolling down on her spine and her madly trembling fingers as they clutched around the golden hem of her robes. She awkwardly tutted and boldly looked up in those infamous, red eyes. It was _that_ kind of unexpected question.

And she knew she had made a fatal mistake.

Legilimency was a powerful magic – it made her carefully constructed walls crumble so disturbingly easily, it made her eyes roll back in her skull and lose her balance as she, now, crouched on the floor, bent and was absolutely pathetic. She could hear cackling laughter, feel a condescending glare sinking in her back while a slimy presence crept around her mind.

Seeing all those memories, it was breaking her from the insides – she decided not to care, she made herself not to care, but she was always aware of Daphne's sad eyes following her around the Great Hall. Astoria ignored her hollowness whenever she saw her and their Slythering gang parading around with Draco Malfoy as a leader – it was her dirty little secret that Voldemort had just now uncovered.

And those sewn-up injuries were torn open now and she cried as Voldemort inspected every aspect of her life, trying to find something mildly interesting and he was obviously unsatisfied when he couldn't.

His cold words cut the illusion and Astoria found herself facing with the expensive Persian carpet, her drool mixed with blood tainting the expensive fabric, "Bring in the Parkinson girl. She's of no use to us."

She slept through three days when she next woke up. It was around ten as she squinted up at the grandfather clock opposite her bed. There were two blankets tightly wrapped around her and she had Pearl under her arms. It was peaceful – so different from the battles, raids and wars out there, in the real life. There battles in which now Draco, her father and a lot more of her acquaintances were part of.

She gulped and thanked Merlin that she could be at home, dozing instead of killing off innocent people.

Automatically, Astoria tightened her hold over Pearl and looked out of her window – it was so different compared to the gloomy Wiltshire. Even though the Malfoy Manor was southerner than the Montgomery Highlands – the place where the Greengrass residence was built in, inside one of the hills, practically invisible even to magical folk – it was sunny and felt actually warm. Her toes curled in anticipation to get to the sunlight and Astoria opened her window to let her legs swing in the air.

One of her hands was around Pearl while with the other, she grasped on the cool iron lest she fall off the hill and she watched as the tiny ants ran up and down on the grass, listened to the voice of various singing birds and relaxed in the sunlight.

It was peaceful – there was no sign of a war, being anywhere near to her. And it was good that way. Safe. Satisfactory.

Her lips opened to a mute scream as she felt a grip on her shoulder, "Astoria!" She flinched and slowly turned around, surprised to see her mother actually being there, worried and ecstatic to see her up and well. "I thought you would never wake!" she cried and her grip tightened on her, just as Astoria's did around her plush unicorn.

"Why is the mirth, mother?" To that, the lady of the Highlands stiffened, her carefree smile frozen on her lips, "Last I knew, I was of no use to our side anymore, even though I honestly have no idea why my presence was even required," she snorted to that and turned her back to watch the wind rustle through the distant trees' branches. It was more interesting than her mother ever would be.

"So you had not realized," came the soft voice from just above her. Astoria pretended not to care, even though curiousness literally ate her insides away. She set her eyes firmly on the trees, not even moving when her mother started gently running her fingers through her thick, chestnut locks. "Your engagement is over."

Not that she was surprised after her pathetic production, but it still seemed too sudden – usually a thing like this dragged on for years what with all those documents and blood contracts being involved, "So Mrs. Malfoy got what she wanted," Astoria mused with a wry smile, grateful to have her future back in her own hands.

By this time, it was obvious she was and would never be anything to Draco. And vice versa.

"To be exact, it was more of our Lord's wish than anything else. Narcissa didn't even know it until yesterday," her mother muttered, starting to hum a melody that reminded Astoria of her childhood, before Hogwarts, before all the complications, when it was just her, Daphne and their parents. It was good to dwell on the past, just for a minute.

However, Astoria just couldn't shut up even for that single moment, "Why was it called off? Besides me being not satisfactory to our Lord, that is."

Her mother chuckled and started braiding her hair and Astoria tried not to flinch at the skin-on-skin contact, "Aren't you eager to know? Hah, Astoria you changed nothing," she noted in an amused voice, "But it's because of Draco Malfoy."

 _Really, who else?_

"What did he do this time?" Astoria whipped out, getting irritated that the world seemed to revolve around her fiancé. _Ex-fiancé_ – she corrected herself immediately.

Her mother seemed shocked by her sharp tongue as she half-heartedly slapped her on her hand in a warning manner, and Astoria could feel her scathing eyes drilled in her back, but she didn't react in any way. She only straightened her back a little more.

"It's more of the issue what he didn't do this time," she answered her slowly, her words careful, meaning Astoria needed to pay extra attention to each of them to understand the weight of the situation. "He refused to kill a girl. A _muggle_ ," she pressed on with acid in her voice.

Astoria expected a lot of things, but this, this she did not. Her mouth opened in surprise, her fingers squeezing around Pearl with a renewed strength, "Oh, oh" she echoed while the gears in her head were working hard. It didn't take long to realize the intention which why the Dark Lord asked for her presence, "He would have been blackmailed with my well-being," she exhaled. She lifted her eyes, looking directly at the shining sun, squinting slightly. It was bright and it was light – nothing like the darkness of Wiltshire, and she was grateful to be unfit for the subject of the blackmail. "I understand now."

Her mother's sigh sounded so loud and heavy in the summer afternoon that Astoria thought she had amplified her voice with a simple _sonorus_. "Maybe you understand now, but you definitely do not know everything, Astoria." She finished the braiding that moment, tying back Astoria's locks with a simple, lavender fabric. The bow was perfect and matched to her hair even by the colour. "The Malfoys are of Veela kin."

She whacked her head for any important information – she tried to remember what she knew about Veela, what she read about them in the school library, what she heard about them back in her second year, during the triwizard tournaments.

Her voice was demanding and serious when she asked, "Meaning?"

Fleur Delacour, the champion of Beauxbatons was a Veela – or part, at least. She recalled the older girls chatting with her than, when the blonde beauty was far away, berating her for her ego, skills, her ever-so-perfect appearance. It was ridiculous, to be honest.

"He has a special someone," her mother answered, her eyes betraying her emotions: she thought her daughter was as miserable as she was when it turned out Astoria wasn't that someone. "A special someone for whom he would do everything. And our Lord thought he needed to find that someone to gain full control over the Malfoys."

"So it was Pansy Parkinson? She was his special someone?" Astoria asked, biting in the lip as the goose-bumps appeared on her fair skin as a cool breeze went past them. "Please answer me, mother," she asked with a reserved voice.

Her mother gave a light kiss on her cheek, "No, but Parkinson was a possibility. She nearly got killed in the process."

Her eyes widened in horror, "What do you mean by that?" She whimpered the gentle, but undoubtedly curious words.

"Our Lord tested the Parkinson out. She had been seriously harmed in front of the Malfoy boy." Her mother exhaled slowly the next few words, "But his reaction was nothing compared to what Lucius did when Narcissa was endangered. And the younger the Veela, the stronger they are."

Astoria looked far away, to the direction of Wiltshire in thought, "Is Mrs. Malfoy Mr. Malfoy's special someone?"

She could literally hear the smile in her mother's voice. It wasn't soft – it was a cruel one, wry and biting, "They share a kind of love that can't be demolished. They are married by fate, not by blood contracts, darling. Just think about it… what are the main Black traits?" her mother spit out the words as if those were any form of acid.

Astoria knotted her perfectly styled eyebrows in thought, not bothered by her mother's harshness, "Fiery temper, tendency to early death and mental diseases… maybe midnight black hair?"

Her mother praised with a sneer, "That's right," and then nodded, "And what do you think which traits does Narcissa possess?"

"The temper," Astoria blurted out, remembering her very few times in the Manor – Narcissa shouted her throat dry whenever Draco did some kind of mischief and she forgot about her position as Lady Malfoy and the fact that she had over twenty house elves at her service. "She definitely has the temper."

"Now, now, she has the hair. Or more like _had_ ," her mother corrected herself and absently flicked Astoria's thick braid over her daughter's shoulder, chestnut, not even a highlight of Malfoy blonde there. Her mother's scathing tone was still on spot as she continued, "As she was Lucius' fated someone, her hair changed its colour in a span of a few days when she came of age. She was eighteen that time. So there is still hope for you, my darling," she chastised and ran her elegantly manicured hands down on her back in a manner of sedation.

It didn't help Astoria a bit.

Sadly, she needed to go back to Hogwarts in September.

It was different this time – nothing like back in the Montgomery Highlands. Hogwarts was dark, steeped, no, _drowning_ in black magic and dread and dementors and psychopaths. It was nothing sort of peaceful, nothing sort of shelter for the needy. It was downright cruel how the feeling of safety was taken away from the students.

And in times like this, safety meant everything. Now, they had none of it.

The problem started when first years got _crucio_ ed two weeks into the term. The Carrows made sure that everyone was quivering and mentally damaged and a withering mess – but it took until November when even the pureblooded were frightened.

Neville Longbottom got himself beaten badly, that day.

He was a kind of hero that gave everyone hope, hope and hope – even to her. She saw him stand up every time. She saw him do everything for the younger and she saw him when he was hardly able to stand, with broken ribs and with bleeding slashes on his skin from curses, but still with a smile on his face.

He kept the hope burning in a lot of people. His little resistance plans with the Weasley girl were something everyone knew of, but no one sold out. The teachers were oblivious to that, though even Astoria heard about them high up in the Ravenclaw Tower – from her housemates who liked to play they were immune to rumours.

Hell, even Draco Malfoy knew about them! And he didn't tell, either.

Astoria sometimes noticed Daphne's longing stares, her sister constantly tried to get her alone, but she didn't give in that simply. She knew Daphne was _kinda_ together with the Nott heir, but hadn't spoken with her, not since summer.

She didn't let her get closer – a conversation between students of different houses would have risen conspiracy theories among the students and the teachers, too; even though they were sisters – all the more reasons to be the each other's liaisons between the houses. And the students of Hogwarts did not need any unnecessary suspicion right about now – they were focused on saving themselves foremost, at least the ones, who didn't intend on choosing sides and fight.

Astoria was one of them – she didn't want to choose. In one side was her family, sister, her soon to be brother-in-law and ex-fiancé and the _wrong_ , and on the other side was what was the _right_ , the _good_ and the somewhat _safer_.

She didn't go home for Christmas. She couldn't when Daphne was held here, she needed to stay to at least look out for her sister even though they hadn't spoken a word to each other in solid four months.

However, the real problems came after they couldn't find Draco _fucking_ Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express back to the school. People talked. It was the sign of the real war – that he wasn't kept away for no reason.

Some suspected he was called away for Death Eater business – because it was a public secret that he was _branded_ –, some speculated that he left to safe himself and fewer thought he did something to go against this ill philosophy he was born into.

There was a base of the last rumour too – quite solid, if someone asked Astoria. Words went and came, but it was a fact that Alecto Carrow spent two weeks in the hospital wing after a close encounter with Draco Malfoy. There was a screaming match, then several curses hurled at each other, between student and teacher. No one knew why or better, _how_ Draco got out of the duel unscathed, or _alive_ , even. It was a mystery that everyone heard of, but no one knew of.

Draco Malfoy left a gaping hole after himself – an uplift and the student body started to _buzz_ yet again with something that made them forget about their current situation. For a few weeks they forgot how to feel threatened and it was like a gift from Merlin himself. It gave a few nights of treasured sleep to the stressed out students who could, by now, understand what was going on in the wizarding world.

Neville continued on with his quiet resistance, the Weasley girl helped, and the next Astoria knew, by the very end of April, after long and long months of risqué encounters and actions, nearly every one of Gryffindors disappeared. Just like that, became thin air and _woosh_ , like they had been dragged to the Forbidden Forest, killed off and forgotten for an eternity.

Neville was never there to protect the youngligs anymore, Weasley was never there to scream at the Carrows and the uprising hope that Draco's absence brought, soon extinguished – like fire disappearing after a flood, not even a sizzling ember of hope survived after that.

The next eight days were hard. Hard on everybody.

There were no news – the Slytherins didn't show their faces, the Gryffindors were slaughtered, merely ashes in the Forbidden Forest – or as Astoria bitterly thought – and with the two noisiest houses being away on vacation or _whatever_ , the entire castle were scattered with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw minors.

The Carrows reigned in terror and Snape was careless what they did until no one died.

It was not good, definitely not safe and obviously not right.

Then, as if lightning bolt coming from out of the blue, came in Harry Potter and Astoria wasn't even surprised that immediately, Voldemort came too. She heard the portraits talk and talk and talk, and the next she knew, the war was there where it should least be: at Hogwarts.

She supposed it was _written_ by Merlin himself, the irony, the biting truth that Voldemort would come back and destroy the place he considered the closest to home. The same place what Harry, himself, considered his home.

The battle was bloody, mean and cruel and _oh_ _god_ , she heard so many screams from her Tower, she saw students younger than her die and she saw Daphne down there, battling to get away from the crossfire with a tight hold over her fiancé's hand as they got through to safety from this hell, and Astoria realized that moment: she couldn't stay here any longer.

She needed to utilize what she learned during the tiring study session about magic and spells and curses – it was put to practice that, at the middle of the field of life and death.

Her breathe was laboured, her hands shaky as she fired the first few spells from behind a crumbling column, aiming at Death Eaters and praying none of them she shot down was her father. She continued on, undetected, as if she were on a secret mission – killing off the bad and the wrong.

Later that night, when Harry Potter was believed to be dead and she was standing side by side with those reckless Gryffindors she despised back in her first few years, did she realize: she had chosen her side.

It was funny really, when she realized Hermione Granger was merely a meter away, that Draco Malfoy was right behind Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley was at her right, wand drawn and not letting those traitorous tears go, because that ginger, Astoria thought _pathetic_ , was actually holding herself together at the sight of her dead love.

Astoria admired her, hell, she admired everyone in this side, not letting go of the hope, the hope that was certainly just sizzling, not burning with full force, but it was inside of every wizard and witch of the Light.

No one noticed timid little, little Astoria Greengrass there, ordinary chestnut hair, petite form and once nice clothes now dirty, hard-worn and tired form the battle and the amount of magic she used from the cover of the crumbling column.

If she felt utterly exhausted, she couldn't believe how the others could feel. They must have been a lot worse state.

The Dark Lord's victorious speech just went on and on, never stopping boasting and drilling in their head that hah, _Harry James Potter was finally dead_ and they were to bow to him not to get killed right away.

It was a bargain no one was ready to take. Everyone remained unmoved and everyone had a tight grip of their wands, because _just in case_.

Then, Voldemort came to a sudden halt and soon, he was cooing to Draco Malfoy, asking him to turn to his side after all the _failures_ his family pulled, and then the damn break when Draco shot a simple _jelly-legs_ hex (really, a jelly-legs!) at Voldemort, his actions spoke louder than his words ever could.

It was a sign of utter disrespect and sheer boldness, but they were in a war, so who cared? But in reality, it was something so utterly flabbergasting that left a few people chocking either on their laughter or on their blood. Astoria could easily spot the weak half-smile pulling Ginevra Weasley's lips slightly upwards.

And after that, seeing Draco Malfoy's determined expression, focused eyes and the arrogant smirk in his face, Astoria realized, he wasn't the same brat anymore. He probably forgot about her existence, but that moment, seeing all this upheld force in his posture, something heavy and something nauseating rolled in her chest and her world zoomed in on the one and only Draco _fucking_ Malfoy.

He was dirty, his clothes ripped, his hair ruffled and still, he seemed proud and powerful, with stance and with more dignity that he had ever possessed. His change swept her off of her feet and she would have marvelled at his new self, wishing they were still engage for the first time, when she heard the first scream, thus putting a stop to her activity.

The supposed to be _very dead_ Harry Potter was suddenly on his feet and all hell seemed to break out, yet again.

It was all about nasty curses, scorching fires and lightning bolt, about spells that could rip you apart and explode your body parts to the air, or turn you into ashes, _or, or_ … the possibilities were endless.

But Astoria didn't run away – she didn't have the guts, after seeing even Draco Malfoy staying in the crossfire, dodging and attacking, back to back to Hermione Granger as the two, opposites, but still capable of breathtaking teamwork – their combined spells were more like art than magic at that point. All of those had a colour, colours of the rainbow and all were powerful and it was something Astoria strangely envied.

She was never that good of a witch in practice as Hermione Granger was.

Astoria didn't even notice when Voldemort finally disappeared from this world, just that her eyes were always following Draco Malfoy now, never leaving his form.

Just later, when she was sitting in the Great Hall, the unmoving dead bodies surrounded by her – Luna Lovegood and member of the Order of Phoenix were dead beside so many others, Dennis Creevey was screaming and so many cried in the mass of people that gathered there – did she realize that she was in love with Draco Malfoy.

However, what she didn't notice was the single, blonde highlight in Hermione Granger's dishevelled curls.


	2. Astoria x Draco x Hermione pt II

**In our hands (pt II)**

First part is the previous chapter, this is the second part of a two-shot with Veela!Draco, Blonde!Hermione and foolish, little Astoria. Slight Neville by the end. Sorry for the long wait, I seemed to be never in mood for this. Anyway, have fun, because I sure as had a lot with this one!

* * *

Her father was dead.

She didn't know if she were the one who sent him right in the grave, but it was enough to shock her considerably, her own actions weighing down on her shoulders. Astoria could still feel the dread that came over her when the aurors told her that, right before taking her mother to the Ministry. Her sister, Daphne was nowhere to be found, and hush, there went her only hope for her family's redemption.

During the summer time, she received a single letter from Daphne, saying that she was now Mrs. Nott and they were at the Maldives with Mr. Nott, newly-weds and perfectly happy and if she could, hop over because the water is magnificent and she would _love_ the fruity cocktails.

Somehow, Astoria wasn't that thrilled about all that, back in misty, rainy Britain. Daphne still didn't know a thing about what happened with their parents. Or how the war hand ended. If she, herself was alive.

Astoria threw that letter in the giant fireplace in the middle of the burning flames right after she had read it. The inside of the hill seemed to be always freezing so she constantly had the fire burning. At least, with that sizzling noise, she never felt alone. Also, the house elves were sufficient enough of partners for meaningless conversations. She didn't need prejudiced public for that.

She never went out. Why? Because it was _safe_ – Astoria decided, ignoring the ricocheting word of ' _coward'_ in the back of her mind.

Alls she knew from the current state of their beloved wizarding world, which she helped saving, was strictly from the Daily Prophet.

She saw the so called Golden Trio being paraded around, an interview with Neville Longbottom and his loses – literally a final farewell from Luna Lovegood and her memory –, about Ginevra Weasley and her efforts against the Carrows' reign, the headlines that bleached Severus Snape's name pure white. And of course, about the Malfoys as the elders were dragged away – then soon, let go of, suffice to the influence they still had over the Wizengamot – and Draco being a secondary hero figure of the war.

His show against the Dark Lord tilted the scale's end to his and his family's advances. He was just as popular as the Golden Trio, but contrary to what she expected of him – so turning up on every page of the newspaper – he was rarely found in the articles. He didn't bath in the fame, – as poor, little, injured Ronald Bilius Weasley did right after Granger dumped his ass – Malfoy just sometimes appeared at the Diagon Alley for getting something as meaningless as new robes and the people made a big a fuss about it.

Frankly, she hated how the wizards and witches behaved nowadays. It was ridiculous.

Astoria tutted, sending a last, awkward smile to her father's tomb before going to London to catch the train to Hogwarts, and with a simple spell dried her clothes and hair. It was raining again, in old, misty, humid Britain.

And now, it was time to take the first big step since the war: return to public.

She didn't want to confess even to herself, but her heart fluttered with dread at the thought.

* * *

Hogwarts was once more safe. Good. In order. Different from how she had last seen it.

The people there – they kept smiling, especially the younglings. The last year blurred the lines between the houses and now Ravenclaw minors were sitting by the Gryffindors, some Puffs were at the Slytherin table and the whole Great Hall was a mess. Every colour was on display by every table and for the first time, it didn't matter from where you came or how pure your blood was.

It was a much required change, drastic, but pretty needed.

It was literally unbelievable to little, ordinary Astoria. And it made her happy – she wished that Daphne could see that, that everyone could see it from the war heroes! She really thought of getting a muggleborn to snap a picture of two of this, because that was what _magic_ meant to her!

"Let me go, Ginevra," she heard the mumble from behind her and Astoria, jolted out of her own visionary and plans, turning toward the voice, startled.

Behind her, was a Ginny Weasley with the widest grin that could ever be sported on a girl, showing off all her thirty-two, perfect, pristine teeth and she dragged a moody, scowling girl after her.

Even thought the bushy hair, what usually made the witch recognisable beside her infamous wit, was covered by a thick fabric; it was clear that the girl dragged along was none other than Hermione Jean Granger.

They walked past her, not even noticing timid, ordinary Astoria, continuing with their private conversation. They didn't even know try to tone it down, not caring if she heard. That was the real measurement of how meaningless Astoria really was in this new world.

"No, I won't show it off," Hermione argued her face contorted in a grimace.

"You really should reconsider," Ginny chastised and playfully poked her on the side, "Your hair is _beautiful_ now," she beamed up with crazily glinting blue eyes, "So sleek, and soft and so blonde! It's like melted moonshine! A real rarity, be proud of it"

That made Hermione's lips quirk upwards in a half-smile. "Maybe you're right, but I cannot take the risk, I don't even know what caused the change…," And by there, their voices faded in the blur of the Great Hall with the three-hundred other students' chatters.

Astoria sighed. She shouldn't have worried – in reality, no one cared if she were alive or several feet under the ground, that meaningless she actually was. Unnoticeable, nevermind her stealth and fired spell in the war. She was a nobody compared to _real_ heroes.

And that was good. Safe. Simple.

Even though it made her lips tremble in effort to hold back the sob that was ready to erupt in any moment from her throat.

She slowly got back to the rhythm of the lessons after months of being lonely and focusing on survival. By the end of November she was entirely occupied by studying, hopping from one book to another as Astoria learned through day and night in her lonely, lonely Tower.

No one sought her out. No one was interested in her. No one wanted to save her from that Tower of hers. And yet again, she was on the verge of crying.

* * *

She got bits of the rumours that circled around the castle thanks to Brown – who now was a werewolf if she could believe the sources. She heard a lot: even about Daphne as the other girls jealously chatted about her big sister having the time of her life on the arm of the Nott heir. She heard about Ginny Weasley being engaged to Harry Potter and heard about Ronald Weasley being used by several girls and she heard stories about Draco Malfoy being nicer than ever – which undoubtedly, made her heart beat a _little_ faster. That one, she actually did notice.

As the colours mixed during the meals such as breakfast, Astoria always found Draco at their table, leaking some information to their quidditch team and spoiling them with strategies that could lead them to victory against the Gryffindors. Even though the eight years' couldn't play, they could still watch the matches and help the teams with the training, and Draco no doubt, wanted the final match to be between the Ravens and his beloved Snakes so the greens could win with flying colours.

Sadly, there were only a few people who realised that, very few. But Astoria wasn't interested in quidditch so she didn't mind his tricks. She was glad that she could shamelessly watch Draco from the corner of her eyes as he explained and gave away subtle information in the circle of the boys.

Her brown eyes never left his form as she continued watching him gesture and move around the vegetables on his plate as display of a very complicated method of batting away the squash. His eyes glinted with mischief as he led the younger Ravens by their nose and none of them noticed.

The firm line of his jaw, the scathing silver of his eyes and his nearly translucent skin made her shiver just by its sight. Astoria, unbeknownst to her, started biting on her lower lip and had been chewing on a piece of toast for at least five minutes.

And just because of these occasions, these mornings did she notice the subtle change in his behaviour whenever Hermione Granger walked into the Great Hall, sleep deprived and her nose buried deep in a book, hair still covered by a thick fabric.

Draco stiffened every time, his smirk transformed into the subtlest of smiles and his shoulders slumped in obvious relief. He always followed Hermione through the rows with his eyes, as if to make sure no harm appeared in her path. He paid attention, his eyes lingered on her curves and his magical energy froze for a passing moment – she could feel his energy literally disappearing those times.

At first, Astoria thought it didn't bother her. _It is nothing_ – she kept telling herself, - _they were fighting together in the war, of course they care about each other!_

A week later, Draco sat down beside her.

Draco remembered her – if not as his former-fiancée, than as Daphne's little sister and he asked questions from her, about her, personal questions such as her interests and projects she was doing and about her favourite food and sweet nothings that irresistibly gave hope to foolish, little Astoria.

Even though it felt like a _forever_ to her pink-clouded mind, in reality, it was not more than five minutes that easily flew by. It was something that shouldn't have meant anything to her.

How did she know that?

Just before Astoria could have stated her own questions, just because she wanted to know more about the boy – man! – she was attracted to, like or dare she say, even loved, he lost interest.

He stopped mid-talking, his sentence long forgotten as he stared at the direction of the Great Hall's entrance, his eyes nearly bulging out and his shoulders gradually tensing at the sight in front of him.

Astoria couldn't resist turning toward the thing that had captured her beloved's attention.

It was Hermione fucking Granger. She should have known.

Or at least, she suspected it was her. The formerly so unmanageable mop of muddy coloured hair fell midway to her back and in front of her chest in neat curls of silverish blonde, shining unearthly in the pale sunshine that flooded from the great windows. She looked amazing with her doe like brown eyes and currently shy demeanour and even Astoria forgot how to utter a coherent sentence.

However, this daze of surprise didn't last long.

" _As she was Lucius' fated someone, her hair changed its colour in a span of a few days when she came of age. She was eighteen that time._ "

Her insides churned as the memory surfaced and thinking about it and Astoria recalled the errant Daily Prophet that she found in the common room of the Ravens at the end of September.

Hermione Granger was eighteen now.

Suddenly, she didn't want to eat more in fear of seeing it back again in the porcelain bowl of the toilet. She needed all of her strength so slowly gather up her stuff and calmly walk away from the gaping Draco Malfoy – who didn't even notice her departure.

" _Malfoys are of Veela kin."_

She let out a shaky breath as she walked by the uncharacteristically nervous Hermione Granger. She didn't even send her a hateful glare – it would have meant nothing with the traitorous tears blurring her sight.

 _"_ _He has a special someone,"_ she heard her mother's drawling voice in her ears, _"A special someone for whom he would do everything…"_

Astoria gritted her teeth as she suppressed a pathetic whine. Draco may have not been aware, but she knew she was not his special someone. Could never be his special someone.

For Draco Malfoy, as if it were a very sickened joke of fate, that special someone was Hermione fucking Granger, mudblood extraordinaire, the Brightest Witch of her Age, the most meddlesome bookworm the magical world had ever seen.

Astoria faked headache to get away from the lessons. She spent her entire day crying her eyes out and trying hard to not hate on someone who had nothing to do with the turning of events, however fucked up they actually were. It was hard to manage and she required a second day of loneliness in her beloved Tower.

During that time, no one sought her out, no one wanted to save her from the demons living in her head – again.

* * *

Astoria tried, really tried to not be a whiney little girl, a foolish one at that. But she had failed miserably, she just knew that. With her lips quivering, she snapped one hand over her lips not to let out a sob that was just so ready to come out. It would result in a miserable failure – Draco and Granger would surely notice her.

She thought going to the Astrology tower to watch the sky was a good idea, a harmless idea at that – she liked that place, she was always mesmerized by the stars and silence was really everything she now wished for – to be rid of her treacherous thoughts and demons screaming at her, urging her to do something nasty to Granger and plaguing her mind with hate and self-loathing.

She wanted to escape – if no one was about to rescue her from her lonely, lonely Tower, she needed to do it herself. That was how she snuck out of the Ravens' dormitory and sit by the balcony, wrapped in two thick blankets, looking up at the sky.

But it only lasted for a precious thirty minutes.

When she heard the entrance door creak as it opened, she needed to take big breaths not to scream and she forcefully willed her heart to beat slower. Foolish, little Astoria heard footsteps, light ones and firm ones and it confirmed her suspicion: it might have been a pair, ready for hot make out in the most romantic place of this damned school. She berated herself for coming here.

At first she was just irritated – it wasn't one of her wishes for tonight to listen to them make love to each other. She was about to rudely send them away with something scathing, with an acidic jab to get back to her silence, when she heard the oh-so-familiar voice of the man she might have loved.

"Granger, please, just… let me explain," the words came out as a pitiful plea from the ever so confident Draco Malfoy's mouth.

Astoria's heart stopped beating for a fleeting moment.

"I don't know what to say, Malfoy," she heard Granger sigh and a little thump: she might have sat down on the stairs leading to the middle of the room. Astoria knew the now blonde Hermione Granger was doing the same as she was, looking up to the stars through the glass roof, trying to read an answer out of them to solve all of her problems.

"I… That's not something you just say during a patrol. That we're fated," Hermione said with little to no emotion in her voice. Astoria shivered – she was sure it had nothing to do with the wind that ran through the whole tower. "I know about Veelas, of course I do. I read about them in third year, and when Ginny not so subtly mentioned that I can be fated to someone from Fleur's family… Don't growl you jealous idiot. It's scary!" she chastised and there was another sigh. "But the point is still the same - it promises a lot of obstacles and time and I'm sure it will take a shittone of patience for us to be together. I don't know if I'm ready for all this," she confessed truthfully and Astoria's heart went _thump-thump_ as it was infected by her bubbling hope, that _please, please_ Granger say no to Draco Malfoy, then she can at least, _try_ to get to him.

If only to patch up the broken pieces of his heart for a passing evening that was enough for her.

Astoria could hear the faint smile in Draco's voice as he answered Granger, "Yeah, I know, it sound more than that to me. Sounds like impossible, to be honest," just there was a little break and Astoria thought they were both marvelling at the constellations shining above them. It was really romantic – she decided.

"Though I'm willing to try, Hermione," came the sudden voice of a sudden decision that seemed to cut through Astoria's precious silence, murdering it without mercy. "If it's about being scared, I'm more than willing to overcome that. I'm more than ready to experience something more with you, Hermione. I want to try this out, if you allow me."

Foolish, little Astoria heard a giggle and she wished she had not rescued herself from her lonely, lonely Tower tonight.

"That's just the Veela talking from you, Draco," Hermione teased and Astoria heard sound that resembled to a kiss. She couldn't stop the tears flowing down on her face – this was the first time she allowed herself to cry every since coming back to this damned school. "I guess I have no other choice than accept fate. I'm ready to try out something new between us. Even though Ron and Harry would want to skin both of us. Not to mention Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley…"

Astoria needed a hand in front of her mouth to mute her pitiful, erratic breathing as she tried to vehemently gulp down sobs that bubbled up in her throat. She couldn't even see the stars shining above her as her tears pooled in her eyes.

"It sure sounds like there's a rocky path in front of us," she heard Draco say, so confident and so cheerful now, teasing and foolishly happy. Nothing like the spoilt brat he once was, the one Astoria hated by heart. "But we have won a war – the Weasleys should be nothing to won over."

"You cocky bastard," Hermione said and there were more kissing sounds, moans and clothes rustling and Astoria felt sick to the stomach with the stars swimming in front of her eyes and her teeth clicking to each other from the frost outside. She heard every whispered confession thanks to her precious silence and foolish, little Astoria couldn't move an inch or at least think of using _muffliato_ to pretend this night had never happened.

It was just a nightmare – she kept repeating that but her heart was empty and her mind numb and she was incapable to stop fate from happening.

She was powerless that night.

* * *

In the next few days Astoria only used passages to avoid the students, the teachers, the lovebird and the reporters who came with the news. Even since the bomb was dropped three days ago, photographers and people like Rita Skeeter flooded the place and McGonagall could do nothing to stop them. They interviewed everyone, even first year muggleborns who haven't a shot what the whole ruckus was for.

As she was Draco's former fiancée, she avoided everything. There was a fat chance that those vicious, gossip hungry bimbos planned to hunt her down for interrogation. And that would be bad – very bad as it is.

With Astoria pretty much looking like an _inferi_ with her pale complexion and the enormous bags of exhaustion under her eyes. She even managed to lose some weight due to always thinking about the lovebirds and even forgetting to eat.

It wouldn't take a genius to puzzle the entire picture.

Astoria shivered at the thought and brightened up her _lumos_. It was all about escaping from the press and keeping her dignity – if it meant a few weeks of solitude she was okay with it.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she hadn't even seen noticed the approaching figure jut when the lightning hit his face and the streaks morphed – like a strange, translucent mask hugging his face, Draco Malfoy stood in front of her in the dark, narrow passage, without any lighting and with a careless posture, his hands resting in his pockets as he trudged forward.

Like her, he just noticed Astoria when the lights reached him. His eyes comically widened and for a moment he seemed to search in his memory where he knew her from. She looked terrible, but cosy, with a hastily made bun and without make up, in her most comfortable robes and with her tired and bloodshot eyes. No wonder her didn't recognise the used to be so elegant little, foolish princess of the Greengrass family.

Then he nodded to her as he passed her by, seemingly still not sure who she was. Astoria froze that moment, her lips moving without her brain thinking, his simple proximity too much to bear at that timeless moment in the dark, narrow passage.

"Why?"

She knew he tensed as his steps halted. With the tears in her eyes, she turned around to face him, his ice cold gaze meeting her own as he asked, "Pardon?"

It was so good to hear is voice! Even though it was blank, without emotions, nothing like the lovely way he asked about her interests or the way he pleaded for Hermione fucking Granger to let him into her panties.

So Astoria, getting herself worked up, snapped at him, "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Draco Malfoy!"

He seemed still lost and Astoria squared her jaw as she hissed in an acidic voice, "Our engagement. What did that stand for?" she demanded, biting the inside of her cheeks as she looked him in the eyes, spotting the exact moment when he was enlightened.

"A— Astoria?" he stuttered awkwardly and she nodded in confirmation, never letting go of his gaze, lest he would flee. "I'm sorry if the hyenas are bothering you too," he added sheepishly.

"It's not a problem," she lied through her teeth and waited for the answer she believed she deserved, but he wasn't ready to give yet. He played the role of a mute with extra precision and Astoria's nerves were just about to snap from all the pent up frustration. This entire situation was making her sick!

His current silence ringed in her ears and even though she wanted nothing more than silence for the past few weeks, now, when she got it, it was unbearable and just made her tremble with restrained rage and burning emotions. She wanted to know damn it, and Draco just didn't cooperate!

So she decided to yet again, open her big, big mouth to say foolish things.

"Yes, Astoria, I'm foolish, little Astoria, remember? Daphne's sister and your former fiancée! And right now I'm fucking confused so _please_ , Draco, answer me! Why were we engaged in the first place if you had a special someone since you were brought to this world? Just tell me why was I promised to your damned family and let have my deserved closure!? I just want this," and her hand landed just over her frantically beating, empty heart that churned even from just seeing him, "to end!"

Draco seemed to be biting his tongue, contemplating what to say, trying hard to ignore her pitiful whimpers of held back tears and sobs. He wanted nothing more than go to Hermione and be together with those idiots bothering them with all those unnecessary questions. He wanted to finish in here, the faster the better.

That's why instead of right out answering, he asked, "What do you know about Veela?"

Astoria took a big breath, never expecting the answer to be another question, but giving him a harsh rebuttal anyway.

"You have Granger as your special someone," she blurted out in a strained voice, her vocal chords grinding against each other. "Veela are jealous, possessive, strong and unbelievably short-tempered. They protect what's theirs and they have freakish blonde hair. You're basically a human with feral needs and animalistic motives," _but I would accept that_ hanged in the air between them and Draco needed to gulp. He knew where she was going. "I was never that special someone. So I need to know, why— why were we even engaged in the first place?" she asked in a small voice, her doe eyes filling up with crocodile tears and Draco needed to look away.

"Because, one time, we were bonded."

Her breath hitched in her throat, her magic flickered out on her wand as she let a single tear roll down on her cheek, hoping that the darkness shadowed her misery from him – she didn't know Veela had exceptional senses.

"What?" she muttered and her heart constructing in pain when she realized: she had the opportunity, she had it all before, but she had lost it. And that just resulted in several cracks appearing on her heart; not yet breaking, but it was painful enough in itself.

Draco let out a heavy sigh and he continued, his fingers running through his silky, blonde hair as a sign of distress, "Veela parents have the ability to predict the mate of their new born at that very moment they are brought to the world. They saw you, Astoria, so you were promised to the Malfoy house in hope of a better future."

The _but_ was heavy on his lips when he heard Astoria back to a wall to lean against, perfectly covered in the darkness. But he could still see her and smell the salt from the tears freely rolling down on her cheeks. It was awkward as he didn't know how to help her through this, even though he wanted to respect her wishes of understanding their situation.

"But," and Astoria quietly gasped, her eyes widened like a dear's coming face to face with a werewolf, "fate does change, Astoria, and they say, the moment I met with Hermione Granger, our bond was disbanded."

So it held no meaning – not since Astoria was at the tender age of nine.

She bit her lip with fervour, her eyes burning, her guts doing backflips and her heart shattering after those words. _How cruel fate really was?_ – she asked herself. Just when she got to know she had a chance, she also got to know that it was taken away from her even before she could have done anything for getting Draco Malfoy all for herself.

And that was just cruel and she wanted to scream.

"So you say," she squeezed the words out from in between the tight lock of her teeth, "that if Hermioen Granger had never appeared, we would be long together, happily married and in love?"

"Basically."

* * *

Like crying, chocolate was just as ineffective of medicine. She could stuff her face with the sweetest of bonbons, but on her tongue they always tasted bitter. It actually made her quite mad – during her childhood, little, foolish Astoria was always cured by the power of chocolate and as the years passed the bonbons healing ability seemed to fade. It just made her even more frustrated as she snapped her neat box close.

She sighed and leaned against the robust wall of Hogwarts, far, far away from her lonely, lonely Tower.

"You're sad too, yes?"

Astoria flinched from the voice that came from the empty corridor. At least it used to be empty when she wandered there: now stood in her path the oh so famous Neville Longbottom with leaves and vines peeping out from his bag and with his black hair falling on his left shoulder in a low pony tail. He didn't smile, his eyes were tired and he looked more like an adult than a student in little, foolish Astoria's eyes.

"Why should I— I answer you honestly?" she demanded quite rudely, not even interested in the war hero or his actions.

But instead of fleeting, like every normal human being faced with Astoria's moodiness, Neville sat down beside her, the bag full of varying, wriggling greens was placed carefully beside them. He smiled when one leaf curled around his little finger as if the plant felt that he was about to neglect them.

 _As if_ – Astoria thought, observing his actions to determine what her next step should be. This meeting was unexpected, a bit unwelcomed, but she was deprived of real, human contact. All she had in the past few days was her books.

"You don't need to," Neville said with a shrug, "but you're not alone, Astoria. That, you should know."

For a moment she was even surprised he had addressed her by her name, but she guessed if no one else, Neville Longbottom, always occupied by plants, had the time to pay attention to others. He didn't take any more N.E.W.T.S. level class than Herbiology anyway.

So Astoria hesitantly pushed her bitter, half-full box of luxury bonbons towards him, too afraid to look him in the eye as she asked, "Want some?"

She more like heard than saw how Neville popped a bite of chocolate in his mouth, muttering an absent _thank you_ just because he was raised properly.

"Is it any good?" she asked meekly, her fingers clutching on the edge of her embroidered robe. When she heard him thoughtfully _hmm_ , she continued, "Because it was terrible for me. I hate this brand," she confessed, feeling like an idiot for buying it in the first place.

"I don't believe it was the chocolate that was so terrible," he said and Astoria could feel his dark blueberry eyes prod her with curiousness. She blushed terribly, trying not to think that it was only Draco fucking Malfoy who managed to cause that much of change in her complexion before. "You're sad because of Hermione and Malfoy, right? You were Malfoy's former fiancée, right?"

"You ask too much," she scowled, but nodded along. "I sadly, have no power against the doings of fate," she blurted out, head cast down, trying not to show how depressed she really was, while Neville sighed in deep thought, reaching for another of those expensive bonbons.

"Sadly, I couldn't do anything either," he said, his mind wandering back to his lost love, the ever so gentle Luna Lovegood. He shook his head to get away from all those painful memories, "But I realized too late that I can still control the present," he added as in an afterthought, "but never the future. That would be way too risky to wizarding folks of any kind."

Suddenly perked up, Astoria blurted out, "How do you do that?"

She didn't even notice the bitter taste leaving her mouth, her lips curling into a modest smile, the churning in her guts stop or how the shards of her heart seemed to melt back together at the promise of controlling what she couldn't right now, to get over fate's influence on her life. And that promise in itself was making her excited.

Neville more likely smirked than smiled at her childish antics, "By living the way I want to , by holding it in my hands," and he demonstrated with a bonbon and foolish, little Astoria laughed for the first time after long, long months spent in her lonely, lonely Tower.

Because someone was there to rescue her from there.


	3. Harry x Pansy 1

**In between relationships**

 **Hansy** ( _Harry Potter x Pansy Parkinson_ ) plus Dramione, Greengrass sisters x Weasley twins, (Fred's alive)

Ginny Weasley (now Krum) was so kind to give everyone an invitation for her wedding party - including the ex she'd just left three months ago. Bitterness ensured, and Harry's in need of a date, the sooner the better. But he should have never trusted in Daphne Greengrass of all people to get him one.

Have fun and let me know what you think of this bitter humour and viciousness and also, I always kinda imagined Pansy like Criella de Vil so I just needed to use that up now! That's going to be an always with Pansy's character, just as the low pony tail and blueberry eyes with the plants peeking out of his bag with Neville. (Rn I'm kinda hooked with Neville x Astoria and I wanna do something with Luna and candles and red strings of fate too, so we'll see!)

* * *

"I'll get some poison in your drink," he whispered in her ear as he stood up with a honeyed tone, smiling from ear to ear down at his companion. Why did he think it was a good idea to take her at the wedding reception?

Oh, of course, out of pettiness.

"It's called Bumbo, you peasant," Parkinson practically spat, her perfectly manicured nails knocking on the table. "Besides, you'll not get laid in the next century if you continue on, Potter," she threatened, her imitated charming attitude literally screamed how very fake it truly was.

Now again, how did he end up with Parkinson of all people to make an appearance at Ginny's wedding to Viktor motherfucking Krum? He may needed to fault the Weasley twins as the two shared the Greengrass sisters' affection... the older of the girls may have made a suggestion about Parkinson so he may have taken it.

He asked for yet another round of firewhiskey and the thing Pansy sipped idly in every ten minutes – just like an acromantula did from its preys' juices. Really, the similarity was breathtaking, even though his partner had dolled up decently for this outing.

Getting their drinks, he looked her over, the elegant Cleopatra cut of her dark, raven-like hair, her wild red – nearly orange – lipstick, and the white fur coat framing around her otherwise petite figure... yes, she was entirely like Cruella de Vil, minus the cigarette. And the urge to murder innocent Dalmatian puppies – but hey, you could never know with a deranged witch like Parkinson.

"What are you looking at?" she sneered, and mindfully shifted the thick fur so that it covered from the curve of her neck to the black skirt underneath – even though it was the middle of the night, her actions were borderline ridiculous, given it was summer and they were in Bulgary. "I didn't dress up for you Potter, don't even _dare_ dreaming about it! Just... just in case, if one of Witch Weekly's reporters makes us headline, you and your miserable face, the ex left three months ago, and me, the shining gem on your fucking weak arm. Seriously Potter," and for that, she leaned in closer with a sneer, her long nails sinking in his biceps as she checked the muscles with a frown on her face. It seemed to be stuck there. "You should do some work-out. Now, I understand why little Weasley ditched you."

Harry rolled his eyes, the emeralds nearly falling out of their sockets with it.

"I should have just paid for a fake girlfriend," he mumbled, his fingers running along the edges of his glass, mesmerized by the sloshing of the amber liquid. It was still better than looking at Parkinson. "At least she wouldn't be rude," his pointed look, however, did nothing to stop Pansy and her annoying chatting. "I'll kill Greengrass."

Not to his surprise, but of course she had a comeback for that, "Yes, yes, you're obviously famous of your brilliant ideas, aren't you, Chief Auror, hmm? Instead of putting up an advertisement, you asked a romantic idiot to get you a fake fiancée in three hours! Congratulations, Potter and cheers to our impending union," and with that she clinked her glass of beige drink – which name he still had not memorized – to his, and downed it in one go.

Harry copied without a second thought. At least they had something in common. Both of them were interested in getting wasted tonight. And the best part? It was entirely free – only Viktor's vault would be empty by the end of the night, and their heads, most probably.

Three more drinks later, he felt lighter – without the shitty feeling of knowing he'd done a mistake, and, yes, the alcohol tended to make things easier. So much easier – especially when it involved Parkinson.

After a while, Pansy whipped out a flask from her handbag, practically pouring the entire thing in her glass. When seeing his perplexed staring, she scowled and gave him the last few drops, barely enough to savour the obviously vintage alcohol. His slathering look gave away everything, and the wrinkles sank deeper in Pansy's skin, "What? I'm too lazy to stand up. And I didn't know I would be your fiancée until like two in the afternoon," he knotted his brows in question, not understanding the change of topic, "I needed something to handle the trauma."

He downed what little he got in his glass without a word.

"So you're going to be drunk, yes?" Pansy tried with chatting airily, but it was quite a dead end anyway as both would have been anywhere but in this wedding reception, "I think I'll join in."

Harry sighed, "Parkinson you quite litre—terally an alcoholic. Been drinking sin—since we met. It's a miralc— racle that you hadn't fainted."

She had the gall to grin while waving down an elegantly dressed house elf to get some more champagne. It wasn't good per se, but it must had been decent enough to get even more drunk on it. She took down four glasses.

"And you really fault me for that?" she asked in a tone that suggested that even she didn't believe her own words. She slipped one to Harry, across their table, and put the other three in front of herself. "The world was cruel to me, I was an outcast in the last six years, I can't even get a normal piece of clothing in Britain so all I left with is Paris and occasionally New York or Milan and they don't even serve me in the Leaky and can you imagine my pain when I found out Drakey was in love with another chick?"

To be honest, her over-exaggerating way of acting was quite funny, even though the meaning behind the words wasn't. Though really, she was babbling on and on about her _miserable_ life to Harry? The orphan of the wizarding world, the Chosen One, the one who had yearly adventures from slipping out of Voldemort's hands? The one who died at least twice?

Her acting would have been believable if, well, Harry hadn't been the one who had needed to endure it. Pansy Parkinson was a fraud and everyone knew that.

So instead, Harry echoed with a cocked up brow, "Drakey?"

To that Pansy rolled her eyes, and pointed to the dance floor with one of her blood red claws, "You know him as Malfoy, she knows him as _oh my god Draco, go harder and faster_ , _you beast_ ," she imitated poorly with a grimace, "but I'll always know him as Drakey, or arsehole, depends on the situation."

The Chief Auror joined in with the grimacing, watching the awkwardly dancing couple with squinting, crossed eyes, "No, Hermione would _never_ ," he stated with a voice so deceiving that made Pansy's chest swell with pride.

To his eternal surprise, she giggled. Like a girl, softly and nicely, not like a hyena, like he would have expected from her. She didn't let any of her pristine teeth show, with pulling an elegant hand in front of her mouth, her midnight eyes filled with mirth for the first time during their fake engagement. Harry noted it as success.

"I don't care what you think Potter, but remember, please, remember well and clear, swear on your fucking _life_ that you never go nor let anyone near their office after six. Just don't. Or otherwise… yeah, you would end up like me," Pansy muttered, turning away from the awkward couple. It seemed Hermione had already stepped on Draco's toes at least five times in her nervousness – or as Harry had estimated. "They had been together since April and it's their first very public outing."

Harry looked up, his vision getting blurry from the sudden move, "You mean Malfoy hadn't been darg—dragged here for the same reason as you?"

Pansy was engrossed with playing the fur on the end of her coat, so she answered absently, a half-hearted edge carefully hidden in her hoarse voice, "No, he hadn't been dragged here to be paraded around in Weasley's face, even if his head is worthy of slicing by now. I mean, he's like a ripe tomato, looking at them with those blaming baby eyes," That point it was more of the alcohol talking than Parkinson. "So, back to our favourite star-crossed lovers!" and to that, she clapped her hands together with enthusiasm, "They are far over the jealousy stage, disgustingly in love, if you haven't noticed in their _I wanna' fuck you against every surface in the room_ glances they constantly, and I mean, constantly give each other in every fucking second, even right now, and even Narcissa and Lucius gave their blessings to them, meaning Granger is chosen. She won't get away easily, and Draco had already received his great-great-great-great-grandmother's ring. I just want to be a bridesmaid, or more like the maid of honour, that role would fit me a lot more better…," she said and flipped her hair back like a diva.

"Wait," was the first word Harry could utter, "Wai— wait a minute, Parik—kinson! How many _greats_ were there?" he asked, lifting up his hand to count it properly.

"Eleven," Pansy answered, bottoming up one more glass. She frowned – she hated sweet delight champagnes. She was a prosecco fan so she tossed the glass to the closest kitschy perennial just out of spite. It was too dark for anyone to see, anyway. "But I just said four. Eleven would've been too long," she whined.

Harry nodded along in understanding, his lips puckered as he was deep in thought, and for a few minutes, deeply in silence. Then, the moment just ripped itself apart as the words escaped Harry's duck-lips, "Wait! So you are not in love with Mafl— the git?"

Pansy laughed – loudly and boisterously, attracting the eyes of the other witches and wizards who had the worst places along them. They were the furthest away from the newly-weds, so her abrupt eruption was really not a problem, beside being embarrassing. But Harry didn't care about that right now – he was entranced by the way she freely laughed, her features not shadowed by the frown she always wore on her face, her body bent down as guffawed and knocked over the remaining two glasses of her champagne.

It was just decent, so it didn't really matter.

"Oh my god Potter," she heaved out, "No, not I'm not an idiot, I'm not in love with Drakey! Fuck, I'm just pissed because he didn't tell me anything until I caught them during action! Gosh, this one was a good joke," she struggled with straightening up, biting in her lower lip, lest she would start again with her show. She awkwardly cleared her throat, but Harry was entranced with how the red lipstick stuck to her teeth, and the way she kept smiling under her nose.

She looked elegant and for a passing moment, Harry wanted to lean in and kiss her madly.

But when the thought was born, he ripped it apart the very same second. He, clearly, started losing his wits.

Pansy threw the heavy, Cruella de Vil fur down on her cheap, metal chair that was everything but comfortable to sit on, and with swinging hips, she took her way towards the bar, "I'll get you some water, Potter. Thank you for your idiocy it really is amusing!" she called back and started flirting with the barista, who she deemed fit enough to grace him with her presence.

Harry looked after her, dazed as his eyes seemed to be stuck to her backside. Even if she was the biggest fraud of the wizarding world, she was a sexy one at least.

* * *

The meal had started two hours after Harry got sobered up from three glasses of water and five scones. He still couldn't believe that her fake fiancée could do anything kind – but he had the proof first-handed, she did have the stuff delivered to their table.

Harry was glad that he gained back all his senses, even though he half-wished he didn't. Even if he was definitely not in love with Ginny Weasley – well, by know, Krum –, it did hurt to see her move on so fast.

So he did what any sensible person would at their ex-girlfriend of three months' wedding reception: he meekly trudged to the table with the food to snitch some fries and chicken or fish, and damn, did the candy apples look good! Of course he needed some on his plate!

Maybe, he shouldn't have.

"Ginny!" he gasped, and he was tempted to rub his eyes under his circular glasses. He hadn't seen the oh-so-happy bride for hours and then, here was she, with her enormous white dress, looking utterly ridiculous with trainers and veil so kitschy on, that he couldn't look – of course, that must have been Molly's doing. Of course she would have needed something in exchange after her only daughter dared and said no to the traditions of getting married in the Burrow.

"Harry!" she smiled brightly and her red freckles moved with her facial muscles. Suddenly, he didn't find those spots so adorable anymore. "It's good to see you," she said and fixed her outrageous veil.

He caught Pansy's sneering face above Ginny's shoulder as she looked at the bride, form up and down, and then all the way back, and repeating it over a few times. He needed to bite in the inside of his cheek to not let the smile widen in his face, lest the bride would misunderstand.

"I'm glad we met," the lie slipped out of his lips far too easily for his liking as he finally reached the candy apple, turning away from Ginny. He stepped away from her, but she, oblivious to his intentions, immediately followed.

"I'm glad too, though I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you wouldn't come," as she was, she just happened to go for the very same stick and their hands awkwardly bumped to each other. The contact was not welcomed, or for Harry at least.

Harry pulled his away, the blush already covering his cheeks. Ginny smiled up at him with those overly familiar, innocent caramel eyes, "I'm sorry."

"Not a problem," he muttered awkwardly. "Now I need to— uhm…"

"Oh Baby, thank you for finding the apples, oh look, they must be _so_ yummy!"

And just like that, an ever so confusing Pansy Parkinson threw herself in the middle of the situation out of the blue, most probably saving the day with that. Her fingers ran up on Harry's arm to his shoulder and she leaned at him for support. She reached over the place in between the two former lovers to snatch herself a candy apple. At the widening of Ginny's eyes, it must have looked convincing, even if they felt it was nowhere near that.

She gave him a loud, sloppy kiss on the cheek and the Chief Auror couldn't help himself, he was crimson from head to toe. He awkwardly pushed back his glasses on his nose and murmured an absent, "You're welcome, babe."

Pansy grinned as if Santa Clause decided to come by in a minute, delivering her thousands of pricy gifts.

Ginny, quickly recovering from her shock, started the usual chit-chat, which was the undeniable proof of faked politeness, "Do you enjoy the party, Parkinson? I didn't expect to see you here, either," the red head confessed, her smile now seemed tight and everything but genuine.

Pansy wore the same expression, her voice airy and effortless as she rambled, "Oh of course, Ginny, pardon, can I call you Ginny or would you prefer Mrs. Krum from now on? Anyway, I feel amazing!" she said with fake enthusiasm, "In fact, I could compare this feeling to when you throw off your bra after a very tiring day, I'm sure familiar with that or… better yet, it's like when you have an orgasm!" she snapped with her finger as if that was the greatest thing that ever popped up in her head, "Or wait! It's like when you get to experience both. And as you know," she snaked an arm around Harry's hips, bumping it to her waist, her eyebrows lifting up suggestively, "He is amazing in performing both. Simultaneously."

Ginny tried to hold up the charade as she laughed, it sounded forced, bitter and wounded, and really frosty compared to her usual, heart-warming giggle, "I didn't even know you two were a couple! I just thought…"

"Oh come on, do you really think we couldn't hide it from the reporters? They are really easy to escape from," Pansy said, and ever so subtly, she pulled her left hand in front of her smirking lips, showing off with the ring that – Harry was sure – wasn't there a few hours ago. The other, golden, clinking bracelets were now gone, with all the other jewelleries and heirlooms she wore before.

Now, this ring was equally or a bit more striking as those gadgets put all together. It was enormous, with a big crystal in the front, surrounded by little ones, the four corners with the Hogwart's house colours, and the smaller jewels in between those ran along the spectrum of colours to change from red to yellow to green and then to blue only to be back at the beginning. It was amazing and he hadn't an idea where she got it from in the matter of minutes.

Ginny's caramel eyes widened an she put both hands in front of her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears as she struggled to squeeze out, "I'm so happy for you two!" she said, even thought she clearly wasn't.

And then, just like that, she took a sharp turn and left the two of them there, staring back at her retreating veil. The pathetic sniff the bride let out was not silent enough for them to not hear it.

Pansy snickered at that and got an enormous bite out of the apple, munching on it with vigour and Harry started wondering if Snow White would be more fitting character for her than Cruella de Vil… even though she had definitely stomped on Ginny's good mood, shadowing the day that was supposed to be her happiest. That was surely more of a move of a Disney villain than a goodie-shoe, but still. She _looked_ happy and innocent and beautiful.

Well, clearly, he should stop with thinking for this night.

"Where did you get the ring from?" he asked before he popped a spiced chip in his mouth right after they got back to their table to blend in with the background. No one was near them whom they knew, so there was no danger of getting their cover blown.

Pansy snorted and pulled down the enormous ring from her hand, "I nicked it from Drakey. I was talking with him while Granger was dancing with the every so mushy groom. He was pissed and on the border of throttling down the gorilla. He didn't notice I took it away, but I'm sure he will when he wants to propose the next week. Until then, this will be in my good care," she said and pocketed it away, but just after wrapping a tissue around it.

"You're terrifying," Harry said and he put down the chip in his astonishment.

"Well, thank you. You know it's a compliment, right?"she beamed up at him with her radiant midnight eyes.

"Nooo…?"

Pansy answered after biting one more bigger chunk out of her apple, "Yes it is. Or at least for me. Compared to what people usually say about me, it's definitely hit the bottom of the compliment category."

Harry, forgetting the place he was in as he concentrated with everything he had at Pansy, started eating the fried chicken with his hands, "What are they saying about you?"

Pansy rolled her midnight eyes that resembled now polished marbles and answered, "You know, me being bitchy, empty-headed, mean, a traitor and a slut. So, just the usual," she shrugged carelessly, "But I've been through worse. I've been listening to all those since Hogwarts, I had time to get used to it."

"Right," Harry said and looked down on his plate. It was easier than to see her wounded and crushed, because she could say anything, but she was far away from unaffected.

To his surprise, it was Pansy who initiated a conversation again, after a few awkward minutes, "You know, I expected that you would at least start shouting my perfect hair off. I thought you are still in love with her, and what I said….," she confessed and waved down a house elf to get her some bumbo and a firewhiskey for Harry. It seemed they were a way too sober for this conversation.

Harry snorted, "I'm not," he looked up, their eyes locking, "and I never was. It was more of… and obligation to Mrs. Weasley. Everyone just… pushed us together, the same way they did with Hermione and Ron. It was expected, and the way how it should be, you know, like it was written out somewhere…. And I don't like it when they do that, it reminds me…."

"Of the prophesy," Pansy sharply cut his rambling of and Harry was silenced, amazed. It was only Hermione who understood, or at least listened to this reasons and oddly enough, it gave him satisfaction that Parkinson was another member of their eccentric, little club. "I get it."

* * *

"What are we doing in here? Still," Pansy demanded and started playing with fur on her coat. It was around midnight, the new-weds should soon get rid away from the party to go to their booked honeymoon and already, there was nothing to do. The party got so utterly flat that even Drakey and his Golden Girl ditched it for a few rounds of loud sex.

And Narcissa thought she would have a quiet night for once.

"It wouldn't be right to leave just now," Harry said, just as bored as Pansy. They spent the last few hours with talking, with alcohol and criticising other guests – a game that the Slytherins loved unconditionally – but there wasn't much they could speak about without stepping over their boundaries.

Pansy watched as the water sloshing in her glass, "We should do something."

"Food?" Harry offered half-heartedly, not having better idea.

"I'm not a motherfucking Weasley, Potter," she seethed and crossed her legs, thinking why anyone thought that lacy tablecloth was a good idea. Molly Weasley must have had some serious issues with modern fashion; that was for sure. She should gift her some of her finished magazines. "Or we could dance. At least, I would get the front page in Witch Weekly," Pansy predicted.

"No," Harry stated, "Definitely not. I don't want to kill anyone. I'm a menace."

"Interesting," Pansy flipped her hair back elegantly and with her eyes narrowed to slits, she easily humoured him, "I seem to recall something of wanting to murder my sweet Daphne," she sang and risked a smile when Harry snorted in disbelief, exasperated by her little games. "You know I always get what I want, don't you?"

The glance she shot at his way was nothing if not suggestive as she fluttered her eyelashes seductively at him. Harry gulped.

"Are you sure?" he cracked it out, not sure if he read between the lines in the right way. With Pansy Parkinson, you could never be sure enough. This game they started playing was a new kind of dangerous that could end in many different ways. But looking at her expression, she was already prepared for the most likely – and she was not against it, not the least.

"Absolutely," The word rolled of her lips melodically and Harry found himself in the dance floor not even a minute after that.

He had a firm clutch around Pansy's thin waist, pulling her closer and trying to enjoy their swinging, even though he was really clumsy, unable to lead her properly and tampered three times on her foot already. He smiled down at her sheepishly, "Sorry."

Pansy rolled her eyes, "You have a lot to learn, Potter, but you're not as lame as you think you are. It would just require some, no, actually a lot of practice. Just be patient with yourself," she advised with a careless shrug as if this back-handed compliment would not mean something. It was a rare occasion and Harry picked up on it.

"Thank you," he murmured against her ear, enjoying the touch of her several, cold earrings meeting with his lips. He sighed and felt her shiver. "So do you have any ideas for the night?" he asked boldly and couldn't stop the contented smirk when feeling her breath hitch.

"No, nothing in particular," she played it off expertly and stepped on his toe in a warning manner, "Oh my bad. I'm really sorry," she mused under her nose and locked eyes with him. The shining emeralds made her heart beat faster in her ribcage, a reaction that she was afraid to confess even to herself.

"Is alright," Harry murmured back and was about to lean in to finally taste those vibrant, rosehip coloured lips, but then—

"Victor! Stop!"

* * *

He woke up with intense headache – like someone had hammered his head with extreme carefulness to cause the most pain –, burning stomach and to the scent of fresh eggs, bacons and unmistakable gardenias wafting in his nose. He cautiously opened his eyes, bewildered by the radiant sunshine that hit him square in the face.

He shifted on the most uncomfortable and smallest couch of the world, lifting his arm up to shadow his blurry eyes. Every position was inconvenient and he groaned when his legs went numb, the itchy feeling climbing up from his toes.

"Oh, you're up, Potter," he heard the hoarse voice just above him.

He squinted up and what he saw, he knew, would make most of his acquaintances double over with laughter. There was Pansy Parkinson, with tousled hair and without make-up or the numerous family heirlooms, just in her modest, white nightgown that easily reached her knees and with a spatula in her hand, pointing with it towards him.

"Yeah, I'm up," was all he said, barely able to contain his mirth and locking up this image in his mind for forever. "What had happened?" he asked slowly, sitting up with a little difficulty. He snatched his askew glasses from the coffee table that was near the ugly, over-designed couch.

To that, Pansy thrust out her hips, "The gorilla decide to beat the shit outta' you," she stated, impassively, while Harry nodded along, now understanding the source of his pain. He was blissfully unaware of the big black eyes which made him look like a panda in sunglasses. "Apparently we made the little Weaslette so upset that the groom felt the need to give you a lesson. It was kind of messy, you see, but I pulled of the role of the scared, doting fiancée magnificently," she confessed, her nose scrunched up in dismay, "We needed to leave immediately as you were unconscious after his first strike and the guests started crowding. I don't know your current address so I decided to bring you here. By the way, welcome to the Parkinson Villa."

"Thank you," Harry said with as strained smile, not knowing why this hurt so much. Pansy bit in the inside of her cheek not to laugh as the little injury beside his mouth opened up again.

She shook her head, "At least we surely made the headlines not just for Witch Weekly but in Daily Prophet, too."

Harry sniffed the air and nodded along before asking, as if he hadn't heard the last sentence, "Is something burning?"

Pansy turned her back to him, bewildered, not understanding what he was talking about. She wrinkled her forehead in thought, looked down her spatula and suddenly, she jumped. Seeing the smoke rise from her kitchen, she hurried towards the stove, "Oh shit!" It was clear she never cooked.

Harry laughed. There went their breakfast.


	4. Harry x Pansy 2

**The tale of the drowned**

 **Hansy** ( _Harry Potter x Pansy Parkinson_ ) one-shot, Merman x Princess AU (just because I was utterly bored by the pirate x mermaid scheme)

Read the story of how fishboy ends up being the saviour of a prim and proper little girl. Also, merpeople must hate by this point their raw fish diet. And, just for the note, little kids also can be arseholes, sometimes.

* * *

Throwing rocks in the lake was boring, but certainly better of an occupation than obediently standing with her parents, greeting their oh-so-beloved guests so that later on they could gossip the hell out of their attire. She could already hear her mom's demeaning voice in her head as she would gently chuckle, " _oh aren't these from last year's fashion?"_

And of course all of her friends were on the other side of the country for this weekend.

Pansy huffed and absently threw away one more rock, experimenting with the size and weight while not caring about the fish swimming in the lake in a frenzy thanks to the sudden and continued assaults.

"Stupid business and boring people."

She hugged her knees to her chest, not caring about her fancy dress getting dirty on the dewy grass. At least the countryside was silent – it was so much better than sitting in silence eating a dish she hated while her parents would offer her up for bidding to the elite bachelors of wizarding Britain who were by, at least, ten year her seniors. It was easier to feign fatigue and go outside. So, in the end, she did appreciate the lake's tranquillity.

Anyway, where was he?

With a grimace, she continued scaring the fish away, because what else could she really do with her life right now? Nobody was here for her. Not even him.

Then came a sudden _oh_ and a _glug_ , and the surface of the water broke right in front of Pansy. She jumped a little, but with recognising the emerging blue face, she sighed and slumped back on the ground, "And what could you possibly want now, fishboy?" she asked, entirely at ease, sounding bored, but internally, glad for his company.

"Hey Princess," the creature – merman, siren or _whatever_ – swam closer to the bank, his enormous, translucent and glistening tail lifting above water as he laid his hands on the shore, watching Pansy eagerly with his emerald eyes, "What got you so under the water?" he asked with an accent that made Pansy cringe whenever hearing it.

But she told him and he listened. The fishboy was a good listener, he knew when to shut up, he knew when to just nod or when to express his exasperated snorts and _ohs_. He was easy to converse with and even though he never really spoke. Pansy never dared to confess it even to herself, but she liked their friendship. To be truthful, she valued it more than any friendships she had on the land.

Fishboy was that otherworldly and figurative shoulder she could count on whenever they were in their holiday home, the one who could always calm her with his very presence and the one who seemed to genuinely like Pansy – not like the Greengrasses or not like Miss petty-prissy Bullstrode.

He liked her for her sassiness and sharp tongue. He didn't mind when she lashed out or started screaming with him for absolutely no reason – he was uncaring and playful, an underwater _rogue_ , nothing like the prim princess Pansy was raised to be.

Their relationship (or the something that was going on between them) which most resembled a friendship, in the end, wasn't forced at all, – he just appeared when she needed him and he, most of the time, asked for human food for his services. He loved steak – which was probably a heavenly experience for the merman in itself compared to the raw fish and urchins he oftentimes nibbled on, because yes, he couldn't cook up a four-course meal sub-marine.

Anyway, the elves were always happy to comply to Pansy's wishes.

* * *

The first time they met, Pansy was ten years old.

Her friends insisted on going to the lake, and they marvelled at the nature's beauty, untouched by human hands. The water was clear, the sky was blue and they were happy to be together, disinterested in family obligations, business and politics.

Draco Malfoy, one of her crueller and more spoilt friends, thought it would be a top-notch plan to push her into the lake with her frilled, heavy dress that weighted more than a stone. So he did so, with the help of the other boys.

Pansy didn't even have the time to grab onto something, the water pulled her down and the scream got stuck in her throat. She was frightened, feeling the weight of the five layers of her dress, pulling her _down_ _down_ and _down_ , not being able to do anything else just watch as the surface swam _father_ _farther_ and _farther_ away.

The corset restrained her lungs, the bubbles of oxygen quickly flew upwards – that's how she knew which way she should swim if she were able to –, but most importantly, it swam away from her. Her magical power cackled in distress and caused ripples in the water and her limbs trembled, but still, in lack of proper training, she was unable to do _anything_.

When her eyes became so heavy and they went down to being already halfway closed, she felt an errant current run along her tremendous skirt and clawed hands gripping her tiny waist. At first, she was scared, not knowing what was happening.

Then, her lungs filled up with oxygen once again and she was sitting on top of the water's unmoving surface with her skirt pooling, face lifted toward the sky. That's how the screaming adults found her and how her friends saw her next time, half dead, but still, somehow escaping from the liquid graveyard. Soon she was known as the _Water Princess_ in British wizarding society. They believed she was reborn under the ripples of their _deep_ _deep_ lake.

At first, she believed in it, too. She naively thought that it was her magic that saved her that day, that she was powerful enough to move water and control it however she wished.

Three days later, she encountered fishboy.

"What kind of creature are you?" she asked immediately, trying to keep her trembling hands hidden and the panic out of her voice. When he – well, she supposed he was a he – lifted his shining tail with a cheeky smirk curved on his lips, Pansy involuntarily stepped backwards. Her gulp of fright was audible to the creature. "Are you a fishboy?"

"Yes exactly!" he laughed sheepishly and soon swam closer with friendliness literally radiating off of his scales, "Hey there, suicidal girl! I was the one who saved you! I came for my prize for saving the _Water Princess_ ," he mocked with smiling eyes and Pansy shot him a furious glance, "Some roasted meat would suffice."

So they started bickering, with naïve little Pansy trying to prove her point to fishboy and failing miserably. And with him leaving the coast with the smile of the victors and with two bloody steaks in his webbed, blue hands.

* * *

As it turned out, the cocky bastard came back in every weekend, sometimes meeting with Pansy, sometimes not. She started her studies in Hogwarts, so they mostly saw each other during the holidays, but his playfulness always managed to cheer Pansy up, even when the times turned dark, he was her light.

They had a strange friendship, with fishboy being the baiter and prim princess Pansy – ironically – being the fish that got caught on the hook. It was always like that, unchanging and permanent. And it was good that way.

For the most part, they spoke. But it was mostly Pansy that did the speaking, anyway. She complained, she told stories and she asked questions about fishboy and his life under the deep, dark waters of the Parkinson's lake.

"They say mermaid lures the pirate into the waters," she opened up with a book, Fantastic Beasts, laid in her lap. He just hummed idly, playing with the ripples his clawed fingers caused on the water's surface. "Then, why aren't you doing this? Trying to lure me into the water?"

Fishboy looked up from in between the thick black lashes of his piercing emerald eyes and lazily answered with the words sweetly rolling on his tongue, "Well, are you a pirate?"

She scrunched up her nose in disgust. Pirates were dirty – or so she'd heard from the stories, "No"

"Then?" he asked cheekily.

"I'm the girl. You should be the girl and I, the pirate. The man. That's how the story goes. You should have lured me down a long time ago to do whatever, but instead, you saved me. You made me believe I was really powerful and I was foolish." She said, coal eyes meeting emerald, "You should have lured me into the bottomless waters long ago," she continued arguing.

"But in this case, you're the princess and I merely am a fishboy, nothing else. I didn't want to lure you in and that's it," he said with finality in his voice, the edge of irritation clearly there, but it went ignored by Pansy.

Prim princess Pansy didn't understand that time.

"There's no story like this," she complained and he chuckled darkly, his eyes sparkling with bitter mirth.

"Well, it's time for it to get written."

* * *

As the years ran by, Water Princess Pansy of the Parkinson family became a proper beauty – the kind of proper beauty that took away the people's breaths. They would admire her like one would a painted masterpiece with its untouchable grace and long, ethereal, the blackest of black hair. She grew into her features, the harsh lines of her face melted away and her body looked delicate and soft instead of the harsh skinniness she sported in her youth.

So with that came another thing – more bachelors after her inheritance and her ripeness, hoping to relive their wasted youthful years.

But she didn't want to just marry away – she was what? Seventeen? Pansy didn't feel ready for an actual marriage with wedding and children and finances and a husband. The thought of a husband was the most frightening to her.

"Frankly, it's so much more interesting in here than the balls in London," introducing herself during the balls was always an utter bore – meaningless chit-chats with plastered smiles and so much make-up that it caused harsh, red rashes on her skin. "I hate those blubbering idiots."

"You hate nearly everyone," fishboy quipped cheekily, splashing a few drops of water on her naked calves. Pansy shot him a dirty look – he didn't even pretend to be affected. Interestingly, it was the first time when Pansy noticed that his features remained unchanging throughout the years.

"Fishboy, how old are you exactly?" she squinted at him.

"Why are you so curious suddenly?" he avoided answering expertly. He lazily swam a few circles in front of Pansy, his huge tail causing enough splatter to properly water the greens in two meters of land. That also involved Pansy, naturally.

She spluttered, but with a single spell, got the water out of the four-layer of her frilly skirt.

"Just asking," she snorted, pulling the wetness out of her hair with twirling motions of her wand. "You didn't age as I did. It's strange, and I learned at Hogwarts that sirens are aging faster the humans. Twice as fast, actually."

"Well, who said I was a siren?" he shot back. He idly twirled his black hair with his spider-like fingers, showing off what obviously was not a feature of typical sirens.

"Then?" she prompted.

"Do you remember the day when you asked me about some fairy tales? When you wished to be lured underwater, Princess?" She nodded firmly, holding his pricing, emerald gaze as he gave her a shark-like smile, showing off all of his sharpened teeth – or were those fangs? "Should I present you the sequel, Princess?" Pansy nodded eagerly, not having any idea where he was going with this mysterious behaviour. "I was once a pirate. You know, the dirty pirate, cussing and drinking with an equally as crude of a crew, killing people and hunting for treasures. It was fun I guess, might have been adventurous."

It was hard to imagine him as a human, even harder to see him something as volatile as a pirate. They were terrible, those people. She had seen some formal documents in Hogwarts' library of those times when pirating was a trend – so many crimes and misgivings listed under a couple of names.

"Were you hanged?" she asked, with brows knotted together in confusion.

To that, he laughed, boisterously and in such a way that seemed to even resonate the water around him and even Pansy's guts seemed to tremble from the enticing, but indeed very dangerous sound. It was like a cautioning sign – the kind that a predator would give off to the unfortunate prey and with all honesty Pansy didn't know what to think of it.

"I didn't make it to get hanged, Princess," he purred. "I became a cursed pirate long before that, dragged into the depth by some red terror of a siren — I lived long ago, you know. And when one is so utterly drunk, young and miserable, they are an easy prey to those foul creatures. It's such a disappointing death, yes?" he asked with a faint smile and head tilted to the side.

"How long ago?" she asked, not wanting to hear the story of how he had been coaxed under the deadly tides by sweet promises and by undoubtedly numerous honey-like kisses.

"Was the eighteenth century not long ago for you?" he cocked a brow as she did the basic maths in her head. More than one hundred and fifty years, uh huh.

"So the thriving of pirating, yes?" she asked after a minute of calmness, eager to find a new world behind those emerald eyes. "Can you tell me more about it? Was life easier that time?" _Would I be married off to old geezers if I lived during that time?_

His gaze said everything: _not_ _because I would have rescued you._

"I cannot tell you anything specific Princess, there's hardly something I remember. I know I was a pirate because of those flashes of memories and this," he said, showing her his left forearm where the burnt brand of outlaws faintly showed, interrupting the route of his bluish scales. "When I woke up next time I was in the middle of the ocean with a colony of sirens."

"So you _are_ a siren," Pansy grinned up at him victoriously, not missing his mistake he made while deeply embedded in his nostalgia. "Why do you not age though?"

"Don't you just die to know?" he teased, flicking some more of the water on her. "But let me tell you something they do not teach in Hogwarts – not because it's a secret, but because no one cared enough to ask our species about it. There are different kinds of sirens – the fast aging ones are the typical ones you can find in every sea and ocean. They are dumb to put it simply.

"But also, there are the ones who are humans-turned-sirens," he said, his gaze not letting go of her coal eyes, "We are born from the emotions we feel during the time we drowned and of which we never can get rid of. In my situation, it was misery — and the universe thought that my kind of sirens are the ones who should live forever. Well, rather until our second death comes, you know, predators like great white sharks, krakens or humans can do a work on our numbers. Funny isn't it?"

"That's cruel, I think," Pansy mused as she was occupying herself with drawing little patterns in the sand, just to avoid directly looking at him. He did say _humans_ , hah. "So you have been alone ever since? Being lonely?"

"Nope," fishboy said, emphasizing on the end of the word with a popping sound. "The red terror of siren, the one who lured me into the water, you remember? She tried to help me, seeing she had just wanted to eat me, she didn't exactly count on me turning to a sea creature. In the end, she was nice I guess," he shrugged as if he had been oblivious to the morbidity of his words. "People wanted to capture her as she was unafraid of them. It ended ugly. She died on the land, dried out and tortured, and with an anchor stabbed through her, just to be stylish, claimed the sailors. Her name was Ginny."

"I'm sorry," Pansy said, partly because she was not ready to say anything else. She didn't know what to think about the whole, twisted tale that happened in the world she couldn't decipher: underwater.

"You shouldn't be," was all he said as an answer. "It was a long time ago."

* * *

Three days after fishboy started actually participating in their conversations, Mr. Parkinson declared that his daughter was to be wedded to Antonin Dolohov. The words of the Parkinson patriarch were to be considered law in his household, the absolute and unchangeable, and therefore, Pansy couldn't do a thing to escape from her impending marriage. Everything had been arranged by the time Pansy met this mysterious bachelor who was fifteen years her senior, with a foul mouth and an even fouler temper but with enough money to promise her a convenient life.

They underwent the ceremony on the first day of September, in the Parkinson's holiday home, right next to her beloved lake.

Married life did her nothing good.

Being Mrs. Dolohov was exhausting, throwing balls left and right, smiling at people she hated and pretending that everything was okay and keeping up the damned façade just to cause herself less of a trouble.

When her mother had asked – really one of her strangest life experiences – whether she was okay, Pansy felt compelled to say that yes, in fact, she was well, yes, Antonin was the best husband she could have ever wished for and she enjoyed the life in London.

It was easier to tell lies through letters, when her mother couldn't see her welling tears or the bruises that formed irregular patterns on her fair skin. There were blues, purples, greens and reds all over her body, even in places where it was hard to hide. She needed to use more make-up and rice-powder than ever which worsened her situation: there were even blisters on her forearms and they frankly looked disgusting.

She sometimes wondered how Dolohov was still able to touch her. He had seen the varying colours on her skin, the ugly blisters and had heard her scream bloody murder at him if he were to touch her one more time, but he persisted and still demanded her to be committed to her marriage vow.

He was cheating on her left and right, bedding her three times a week and hitting her every day. It was not how she imagined marriage life, not at all, but really, proper Princess Pansy Dolohov what could have done for her own cause?

Not much, right?

So she did the only thing she could in such a big city of London without being on the receiving end of her husband's anger.

She took long walks along the Thames.

It was calming really. All she did was pleading to the river to send fishboy over there. She called out to him through the waves and her magic that throbbed with misery every time she was outside. She knew she couldn't bear it much longer – marriage did a number on her, the kind of number that threatened to end bad.

"Help me Harry, I cannot escape by myself," she kept saying it to the gentle waves, looking down in the murky water from the docks. "Just please, save me once more."

She didn't care if she was loud. That was hardly anyone outside in this particularly rainy day. The muggle servants and vile house elves of the Dolohov's thought she was already eccentric, if not half-crazed, what for it if more people repeated the same mantra?

"I cannot help you," came the sudden answer to her pleading.

For a moment she didn't know if that was her fishboy himself or her mind had pulled a cruel trick with her, but her initial reaction was still the same: she sobbed with relief. Her knees gave out and her hands gripped the edge of the wooden docks as she stared down into the waves hoping against hope that he was _really_ there.

"You're truly here," she breathed.

Her fierce saviour, the pirate-turned-siren partly emerged from the murky water, only enough to be able to speak with her. This time he didn't flaunt his tail carelessly – he was well aware of the dangers the central provided for mythical creatures. It took only one bystander and he would be done.

"Princess," he said, the tone he chose this time was not even near to being amused or cheeky. It was easy to notice how different Pansy looked from before, broken and vulnerable, with red rashes on her face and bruises on her entire forearm, nothing like the beauty he bid goodbye to back near the Parkinson lake. "You called me."

She let her tears flow down her cheeks, falling in the Thames as she cried. She was hardly able to maintain an eye contact with his familiar emerald eyes – she was not allowed to look Dolohov in the eyes. She was always slapped if she disgraced him that way. Hard.

"Save me from here, take me away," she pleaded to her beloved ally, sniffing and crying, trembling and quivering in front of the siren. "I don't care how, just please, please help me escape. I need to be rescued," she took a long, dragging breath while trying to calm her frantically beating heart. "Turn me into one of your kind."

There it was, truly out of her mouth.

If her ghost-like appearance and destroyed confidence, her whole personality, abused soul and held back wits didn't take him surprise, then her single wish most definitely did.

"You've thought about it," he said in shock, flicking his tail absently underwater. His piercing gaze took its time to run over her once more – he wasn't sure that death would be her saviour. "But I'm not willing to do it."

"You need to! Please! I… forgetting about this life worths it!" she continued, the maelstrom of craze appearing in her coal irises, "I want to forget! I don't care about living in the water or eating only raw fish for an eternity. Just please, _Harry_ , once you helped me. Years ago. Many years ago, you could do it. Now you should be able to do this too!"

 _Harry_ , hah.

She called him Harry, and frankly, it did show how desperate she really was. But still, taking away her life was still something wrong, and it came with the kind of action and risqué factor Harry was not nearly ready to take.

"It'd come with me killing you... Drowning you, Princess. It would be slow. And I cannot do that, Princess. Not just like this," he reasoned, tried really, but by that time Pansy was wailing in misery, clutching her throbbing head while her whole body was shaking, realizing that her saviour, her only hope and only way out was slipping away from the grasp of her fingers.

It looked more like a panic attack than hysterics.

"Be the bad pirate you once were and forget about our friendship. Please, I'm… begging you," she more like screamed than said it to Harry. He knew he needed to calm her enough so that she could listen to reason so he swam closer, his webbed, spidery fingers reaching out from the cold waves of the Thames to touch her.

She flinched back from the contact.

"I'm… here it's okay, nothing will…" the confused siren tried again, blabbing and rambling, not knowing how to handle the quivering mess that was the woman he protected more than anything in all of his lives.

"Why did you save me so many years ago?" she murmured again, her forehead laying on the wooden docks as she felt powerless against the world. The universe fucking won in its twisted game and she was ready to give up.

"I was just… it was easy. The right thing to do," he ended up saying, unable to look at the shattered woman. He felt responsible for her even though he couldn't have done a single thing to sabotage her marriage.

"Why?" she asked once more.

"I don't know," he confessed truthfully. "Why do I need a reason for saving a life?"

"Then you shouldn't ask me why I want to forget and continue living," Pansy said in mockery, looking up only to come to face to face with his piercing, expressing, emerald eyes. "You said I'm the Princess. What if I command you to drown me? What if I jump on my own free will?" she mused absently, "People are for serving the royals, you know," she reasoned with a kind of quiet acceptance. "He would only continue with raping me. Hitting me. Cheating on me. I would lead a miserable life Harry. I already am," she breathed out with her empty eyes comically widening up with realization. "There's nothing left for me. Save me, turn me and I can escape. _Please_."

He nodded once. She was desperate enough to run for her death.

"Do not hate me for this," he said slowly as he lifted her inside the water with her weighty, five-layered skirt that seemed to immediately pull her _down_ , _down_ and _down_.

He didn't let her go just as much as she wasn't willing to let go of him either as he slowly guided them to the bottom of the river, near the thick seaweed, letting her expensive heels sink into the mud.

This time, Pansy didn't panic under the pressure of the water. She didn't try to grab onto something to avoid her inevitable destiny – she seemed entirely calmed, glad to have the siren by her side. His emerald eyes shined down on her and she couldn't resist sending back a smile to him.

"I'm sorry," he felt compelled to tell her.

With that slightly bitter, but still grateful smile on her lips, she let her heavy eyes slid close while her thick, black hair swam around them and to Harry, she looked like an ethereal beauty with her skirt flowing in every direction of the current, seaweed tangled in the layers and with the white of her corset already being tainted.

Even without realizing, his tail twisted around her gentle form to give her some kind of protection. However, he couldn't exactly shield her entirely from all the bad and cruel, he knew that well enough – she immediately started coughing, her oxygen flowing upwards in bubbles and hands clutching his clawed ones with desperation and maybe, with fear too. The minutes ticked by slowly and felt like they stretched longer as life seemed to swim _farther_ , _farther_ and _farther_ away from Pansy's empty, coal eyes.

It seemed that in the very end, it was, surprisingly, the prim and proper princess that lured the rough siren back into the water.


End file.
